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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431127">something more</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminoussbeings/pseuds/luminoussbeings'>luminoussbeings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bisexual Richard Gansey III, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, basically that really homoerotic pit scene in trk but dialed up to 11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 08:41:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,297</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminoussbeings/pseuds/luminoussbeings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Something more. </em> This isn’t it, not really—but it is <em>something,</em> and the distinction doesn’t feel quite so important when he’s close enough to count the freckles sewn into Gansey’s cheeks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Henry Cheng/Richard Gansey III</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>something more</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Henry Cheng is no stranger to wanting.</p>
<p>It would be easy to blame the kidnapping for the cavern inside him—surely the trauma must’ve knocked <em> something </em> loose—but no. It’s been a part of him for as long as he can remember, woven into his body like an extra sense: touch, sight, sound, and the vague, diffuse hunger that he did not fully understand.</p>
<p>Only with the help of his mother’s borrowed phrase did it coalesce into focus. <em> Something more.</em> Yes, that was what he wanted, and the ache for it became a real thing, realer than anything he’d ever known. <em> Something more. </em> Something beyond the plane of ordinary, something to open his eyes wide and make his heart sing for the stars. Something magic. Something with purpose.</p>
<p>Something more: the one thing his parents’  money couldn’t buy him.</p>
<p>They’d tried, of course. And RoboBee <em> was </em> magical, and Henry <em> did </em> love it—fiercely, protectively, openly—but in the end, it wasn’t enough. A splash of water on a roaring flame.</p>
<p>He still wanted more.</p>
<p>He traveled. He painted. He bought a grand piano and spent three months reaching mastery, then shoved it aside to make room for a Dance Dance Revolution machine.</p>
<p><em> Something more</em>. The phrase beat inexorably from his chest, a shadow heart pumping the staccato words of <em> more, more, more. </em></p>
<p>If he couldn’t sate it, then he tried to drown it out. Tried to be satisfied with his lot, because he was well aware that his lot was <em>a</em> <em>lot. </em> If all his travels had accomplished anything, it was to at least make him even more acutely aware of his privilege. What right did he have to complain, to hunger for <em>more</em>, when he could fulfill literally every passing whim with simply a few credit card digits?</p>
<p>None, Henry knew. But that didn’t make the yearning go away.</p>
<p>When his mother told him she was sending him to America for school, he’d had a brief, shiny flare of hope. <em> Henrietta </em>, he’d read on the brochure, and something about the shape of the vowels made his heart quicken. <em> Something more, </em> it whispered once again. Feathers brushed his ribcage. Yes, Mother. Yes, he would go. He’d stepped off the plane feeling more alive than he had in years.</p>
<p>And then he’d gotten to Aglionby.</p>
<p>The dull swoop of disappointment was unpleasant, but not altogether unexpected. He wanted to laugh at himself, and being Henry, he did. What had he thought? That this private school in the whitewashed fields of rural Virginia would somehow change things? That this breeding ground for drab lawyers and sweating politicians would somehow fill the hole in him? It didn’t. It wouldn’t.</p>
<p>He didn’t know what he’d thought.</p>
<p>Then—he still remembers the first time he’d seen <em> them</em>. The impossible constellation of Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch, and Richard Campbell Gansey (the Third!) cutting their way across the courtyard. How the other students hadn’t seemed to care, but how Henry couldn’t tear his gaze away.</p>
<p>And how slowly, <em> slowly</em>, Henry began to get an idea of what <em> something more </em> could actually mean.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>No, Henry Cheng is no stranger to wanting.</p>
<p>But standing in the blackness below the Borden House floor, mere inches between him and Gansey—close enough to feel the slight inhale of Gansey’s quick, anxious breaths—he’s realizing there is still, in fact, far more for him to learn.</p>
<p>“Do you trust me?” Henry asks.</p>
<p>The air shifts. He can hear Gansey’s breathing quiet; instinctively, Henry’s does the same. There’s just enough light to make out the lines of the other boy’s face, but his expression is lost amid the dark and more dark.</p>
<p>Good. This is hard enough as it is.</p>
<p>The silence crackles between them. “Yes,” says Gansey, and Henry finds he believes him.</p>
<p><em> Here goes</em>. He reaches out and finds Gansey’s palm in the darkness. Gansey’s hand twitches slightly under his; Henry is doubly thankful he can’t make out his expression.</p>
<p>He presses RoboBee into Gansey’s palm and feels him stop breathing.</p>
<p>“Richardman,” Henry says after a moment. Gansey doesn’t respond. “Dick.”</p>
<p>Gansey is carved from ice; from marble: a stone statue in the shape of a boy. No, that’s not right. Statues don’t have hearts beating so violently that the walls echo with it.</p>
<p>The first real thread of doubt snakes into Henry’s gut. “Gansey,” he says. When the other boy doesn’t react, Henry makes a split second decision and steps an inch closer, laying his palm flat over Gansey’s heart as if that could somehow force it to slow. “Gansey, man, you’ve gotta <em> breathe</em>.”</p>
<p>The silence stretches for an interminable moment. Then Gansey swallows, and slowly, shallowly, begins to breathe.</p>
<p>Henry knows he’s playing with fire. But after a lifetime of flames licking his heels, he can’t bring himself to care.</p>
<p>“Here is what I have learned,” Henry says. His fingertips graze over Gansey’s knuckles; a shiver skips in the dark between them.“If you cannot be unafraid—”</p>
<p>He places both hands around Gansey’s palm, cupping the bee in a globe of fingers.</p>
<p>“—then be afraid <em> and </em> happy. Think of your Golden Trio. Think of the time we had last night. Think about what you are afraid of. That weight that tells you it is a bee? Does it have to be something that kills you? It is just a little thing. It could be anything.” His fingers tighten over Gansey’s. “It could be something beautiful instead.”</p>
<p>Gansey lets out a ragged breath, but Henry can tell he’s starting to come back to himself. <em> Something more</em>, the darkness chants, and both of their hearts align to beat with it.</p>
<p>“What is in my hand?” Gansey’s voice is hoarse.</p>
<p>“A secret,” Henry answers. Slowly, he uncurls his fingers. Wings glisten and shift; the bee’s amber heart glows just bright enough to illuminate the questions in Gansey’s eyes.</p>
<p>Henry digs for his phone and explains the app— the mundane. Then he stows his phone back in his pocket and sends the bee fluttering upward without the barest spoken command. Gansey’s eyes widen, and Henry wishes he could burn the image into his memory—Gansey, unprotected; Gansey, lit up with awe; Gansey, luminous in that brief moment of joy.</p>
<p>Above their heads, the bee dips and swoops, golden trails against the black.</p>
<p>Gansey’s mouth parts. “It’s—“</p>
<p>Improbable. Illogical. Impossible.</p>
<p>Magic.</p>
<p>Perhaps the purest expression of Henry Cheng that exists.</p>
<p>“—beautiful,” Gansey finishes, and Henry looks up sharply. Their eyes meet, dancing with soft golden light, and Henry’s aware of how close they’re standing. How minutes ago their hands had twined together; how with a few bare inches they could again.</p>
<p><em> Something more. </em> This isn’t it, not really—but it is <em> something</em>, and the distinction doesn’t feel quite so important when he’s close enough to count the freckles sewn into Gansey’s cheeks.</p>
<p>Henry’s eyes flick to Gansey’s lips.</p>
<p>“I,” Gansey clears his throat inelegantly. On cue, his phone rings, and he holds it up with a wince. Just like that, the moment dissipates, and Henry takes a half step back. Blue’s voice echoes from the tinny speaker and Gansey mouths <em> sorry</em>, phone wedged between shoulder and ear as he begins to climb up from the pit.</p>
<p>Henry shakes his head and smiles wide, shooing him up. <em> No problem. Hey, it’s cool</em>. <em> Don’t worry about it</em>.</p>
<p>He watches Gansey’s form retreat until he’s nothing but footsteps against the old wooden floors. Then he cups his bee in his palm and feels it shiver against his fingers.</p>
<p>He’d trusted Gansey with a lot today. Secrets have a cost, and Henry isn’t sure what spilling this one will demand.</p>
<p>But he gets the feeling that just for a moment—down here in the dark and gold— Gansey had trusted him with something even greater.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>was rereading trk and once again struck by how!!! not straight!! gansey and henry are!! anyway this happened bc i am also obsessed with the concept of yearning</p>
<p>might write more for this / go the sarchengsey route if people are interested!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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